


Safe As Houses

by Val_Creative



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Canon - Book & TV Combination, Cittagazze (His Dark Materials), Crushes, Exploration, F/M, First Love, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Humor, Hurt Lyra Belacqua, Introspection, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Ocean, Protective Will Parry, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 02, Soft Will Parry, Swimming, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Will and Lyra go swimming in Cittàgazze's ocean, and then exploring. Being silly together is half the fun.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry
Comments: 26
Kudos: 47





	Safe As Houses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HivertoAutumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HivertoAutumn/gifts).



> WE ARE BACK WITH MORE LYRAWILL. THIS IS THE CUTEST OTP. I got to participate in the **HDM Holiday Exchange 2020** and I got **[hivertoautumn](https://hivertoautumn.tumblr.com/)** on Tumblr who wanted LyraWill so I hope y'all like this! Any thoughts/comments welcomed! 🥺💗💗💗

*

It's only been several days, but Will likes it here.

Nobody is looking for him.

He had taken to exploring on his own, down the long streets of Cittàgazze opening up into a sloping, wide boulevard with regal hotels. Palm trees, higher than the peaks of the stone column flats, glisten with lamplight on the undersides of big earthy leaves. Sculptures of marbled-white angels dot among the meandering, perfumed gardens of a nearby opera house. A world brimming of solace and silence.

Will's relief outweighs his apprehension while finding nobody around this towering city.

Now… there's Lyra.

She's short and small for what Will supposes is her age, but fierce-tempered. Headstrong. Lyra acts before raising questions, and she's not fearful of cruel-eyed strangers or demanding answers from them. Will doubts anyone in any Oxford is like Lyra.

_"Hurry up, Will!"_

They race for the harbour, with Lyra ahead of him and Pantalaimon even further still as a black-headed gull in flight. The wind blows a constant, strong heat against their faces. Will climbs down the many, many steps of the gigantic, oil stone breakwater, trying to watch where he's going… while also keeping an eye on Lyra darting by one or two moss-covered rowboats laying still at anchor.

"Be careful!" he shouts. Lyra doesn't pay him mind, already barefoot and shedding off her overalls. Pantalaimon dives into the roiling, pale-frothing waves, turning into a sea turtle when he resurfaces. She leaves on a oversized, ratty shirt and trousers.

"Lyra!"

Will frowns.

_"Hurry up!"_

Her eager voice reverberates off the filthy, aged stone.

Will finally reaches the sand, nudging aside a wooden crate with his toe and staring at his friend. A grinning Lyra crashes herself into the sea, opening her arms wide. Dark blue erupts around her. He can hear her burst out laughing, splashing noisily and calling out to Pantalaimon.

He finds himself grinning, peeling off his trainers and his socks. Will's tee-shirt flung on the crate.

The ocean feels Mediterranean warm against Will's bare, brown skin. Lyra splashes him mischievously, hollering out Will's name and laughing in delight when he kicks the foaming water up and splashes her. The tips of Lyra's ears pinken under the sunlight.

Pantalaimon, as a large, grey dolphin, appears behind Lyra, nosing against her legs and back.

The three of them swim, basking in each other's company. Will doesn't think he's felt this happy in a long time.

He goes out of the water for a moment, rubbing on his shoulder-muscle giving a twitch. Will mop off his face with his dry tee-shirt.

Beyond the curve of the stone breakwater, there's a red-and-white striped lighthouse a mile off. The towers and domes, and the brown-red tiled roofs of the villas with fragrant, ivory blossom trees hung over sun-shaded balconies.

And… beyond it all… and even beyond the mountainous peak of Cittàgazze… is the great wide rolling hills and the distant cliffs.

Will wonders if they're the only ones.

The only ones alive in this world seeming quickly and fearfully emptied.

_"Hahh!"_

He whirls round at Lyra's yelp. Panic flares through him. Lyra falls down in the ocean, sinking under and accidentally inhaling salt water. She returns into view, gagging. Her wet face lined in pain. "Lyra!" Pan cries out, swimming to her to help her upright.

Will's already rushing into the water, fighting about the rising ocean current and gathering Lyra into his arms.

She's trembling badly.

He wordlessly hoists her off her feet, carrying Lyra out himself and making it back onto the hot, pebbled sand.

Bright red blood drips off Lyra's ankle.

"Lyra," Will says, trying to be calm for her, resting her down on the overturned rowboat and letting go. She gasps for air, coughing and spitting into her hands. "Lyra, breathe—don't panic. You're going to be alright." He touches one of her knees, waiting for her coughs to ease, not reassured in how she flinches away from him. "I need to look—what happened?"

_"Hurts…"_

"I felt it, Will," Pan murmurs, buzzing as an insect near Will's ear. "She cut herself on a broken shell. Lyra didn't see it."

Will kneels down in front of Lyra, urging her leg to straighten and lifting her bloodied foot up. Lyra hisses through her teeth, but no longer pulling away. He grimly inspects Lyra's foot. There's no telling about a deep wound, but the bleeding hasn't stopped.

"Come on," Will says softly, getting up. "Hold onto me, Lyra. I won't drop you."

Lyra groans in frustration, opening her arms and clasping onto him. Her hands slippery-damp to Will's neck. Lyra's cheek to his.

He carries her instead towards the headland where a large building, abandoned like everything else, sits. There's low steps and ornate colonnades and verandas among flowering, full bushes. Will enters through the door, mindful of Lyra's head.

Thankfully, Will locates a roll of bandages and salve medicine in the upstairs loo's drawer.

He returns to where he left Lyra, propped against a dusty lounge chair. She murmurs to Pantalaimon nuzzling her fingers as a coyote pup. Will sits beside her, inspecting Lyra's left foot after washing off the sand-crusted blood. He finds the cut on the inside sole, bandaging her up.

Lyra cringes, jerking slightly, but she doesn't try to get away from Will's gentle fingers. Even with the sharp, throbbing pain.

"I told you to be more careful…"

A faint scowl. Lyra opens her mouth, probably to argue, and Pantalaimon nips her thumb hard in retaliation. She squawks, indignant, now arguing with her daemon and Will can't help but laugh quietly. He supposes at least it's never dull with Lyra.

*

There's so much to explore here.

Will notices the towering, brown palms grow in rows like the hornbeam trees from his Oxford.

As dusk glows over them, the streetlamps whir on, floodlighting all of the small shops and cafes. Even so, the full moon shines over where the hills slope down, and the mansions with lavish gardens, and vineyards and narrow beaches, and heaps of rubbish left in the courtyards.

Yesterday, they snuck through a unlocked door under a little portico.

It lead into what seemed to be a bare room to a circular temple-like structure full of angel statues. The columns gleamed pallid. A spiral staircase of black wrought iron, opening from the floor, gave the impression of multiple levels. Lyra wanted to go up, and Will insisted on going down. They agreed on starting at the topmost floor, finding no windows or walls — only archways showing them the endlessly green forest Lyra came from.

This time, Will slowly walks an injured Lyra back to the cafe. She hobbles on her bandaged foot, limping and leaning on Will, Eventually, Lyra walks on her own, grimacing with each footstep. Will knows he's going to be changing her bandages soon.

Will's ring and little finger on his right hand aches, going numb.

He can't figure out _why_.

The hot night air dries out their soaking-wet clothes. Will takes a moment to yank back on his tee, shoving it over his head.

Lyra's dark hair curls with moisture.

"This is nothing," Lyra prattles on, catching a glimpse of Will's eyes once again lowering to her foot. "One time, at Jordan College, I drank a whole bottle of the Bursar's sherry and vomited it all back up into Mrs. Moore's laundry basket. She slapped me so hard that I broke my jaw. My friend Roger had to slap me again — even _harder_ — to set it right."

"I don't think that's possible."

"It is," Lyra says haughtily, tilting her nose in the air. Pantalaimon fluffs his eagle-like tail.

They make their way to a familiar stretch of pavement. Will spots the nearby building with open wooden cases of dried fruits and walnuts and cinnamon sticks. Gingerroot and quinoa. He drops a bit of money into an empty case, overhearing Lyra huff.

She nabs one of the raisins from Will's hand. "You en't a grown-up. You shouldn't act like one or the Spectres will think you are."

Will ignores that, narrowing his eyes.

"You could have asked me if you wanted any…"

Lyra fills her palm with more raisins and cashews, unbothered. "S'alright. You weren't eating 'em anyway," she blurts out, stuffing her mouth. Instead of getting understandably infuriated, Will shakes his head in disapproval and chuckles under his breath.

There's an odour of roses and cool salt brine off the ocean.

Starlight glimmer on the wind chimes made of delicate metal shaped into coils. Will glances at them, and then upwards.

_"Whrr'yu looking at?"_

"Dunno," he mumbles. "The stars."

Lyra plops herself onto a thin metal cafe chair. For someone so small, she physically and mentally runs a hundred miles an hour — or so Will thinks. He would be impressed if Will wasn't concerned about her getting hurt again for being reckless.

"I used to think the stars had daemons…"

Will adjusts his wrist-watch, gazing down at the numbers. His mum would be going asleep by now. His heart clenches. "Humans are the only ones with daemons," Lyra comments again, spitting out the shells of hearty, flavourful nuts. "And witches."

"Never heard of witches being real…" Will deadpans.

"Maybe you just haven't looked hard enough in your Oxford. Witches are clever." Lyra quirks an eyebrow at Will's astonished expression turned on her. "They'll only be seen if they want to," she says matter-of-factually. "That's how witches are."

"You're an expert then, are you?"

"More than you."

"Lyra," Pantalaimon mutters like a chastising. She folds her arms, staring defiantly between Will and her red panda daemon.

Will's mouth creases into a smirk.

"That's fair."

Lyra suddenly grins at his response, keeping her eyes on him as Will joins her across the cafe's table and sits down.

Pantalaimon stretches lazily, croon-yawning and waddling into her lap. One of Lyra's hands nestles cosily into Pantalaimon's fur.

"Here, Will," she says, offering up a red, tiny fruit. Will can smell the heavy sweetness of it from where he is. He lets her place it to Will's fingers, and there's something — _something_ — inside Will urging him to press it gently to Lyra's mouth.

 _No, no. That's ridiculous_ — Will's cheeks go flush.

"Is something the matter?"

"Nothing," Will lies. "It's getting late, Lyra… maybe everyone should turn in…"

Lyra flattens her lips together, silently considering this. She then decides to throw one of the red fruits at Will, breaking the awkwardness with him making a confused face. A second one bounces off Will's tee. He finally takes the playful hint, catching the next fruit with his widening, smiling mouth. Will tosses a raisin from his hand and it disappears into Lyra's own mouth.

It's several minutes of nothing but acting like silly children.

Nobody can take that away from them.

*


End file.
